


this thing of lust... she loves it

by yellowsuns



Category: Black Panther (2018)
Genre: Come Swallowing, Comeplay, Daddy Kink, Dirty Talk, F/M, Filthy, Mild Degradation, Nonsense, Slapping, Smut, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-27
Updated: 2019-03-27
Packaged: 2019-12-25 12:03:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18260906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yellowsuns/pseuds/yellowsuns
Summary: Just what the fuck has Everett Ross done to poor little Shuri.But if that doesn’t make her want to defy the odds and almost everyone around her for wanting him, then she doesn’t know what else she could do to be rid of him… and she’s not doing that anytime soon. Not when she loves it like this.





	1. Hypothesis

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [She deserves a harem](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17252129) by [orphan_account](https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account). 



_I don’t care where we’ve been tonight //_

_It is of no consequence my dear, //_

_Just stay here, my arms are wide, my love //_

_And the rest of the world could disappear and I wouldn’t //_

_care_

 

 

_*I’m On Fire – Stateless*_

 

* * *

Part 1.

 

This thing of lust… she loves it.

 

 

There she is. Taunting. And stubborn.

 

 

 

She waltzes in, dazzling the workers as she walks past them with a satin dress, opened back with spaghetti straps but the wind follows behind her and ever so lifts at an opening of her dress and he sneaks a glance at her garter belt underneath.

 

 

Rendezvous were a thing of the devil. A delicious moment encounter but immediately afterwards there would only be disaster. A mess. Because sometimes he’s lost a button somewhere, his silver hair in disarray, his tie lost in Bast knows where, and he would then summon his area of expertise lying about his whereabouts for the last 20 mins he was gone.

 

 

But she was all to blame for their small little thing. Truly.

 

Their small little thing starting with little glances from the corner of the room, the barest slide of her palms while she moves around him or when she leans against him just enough to feel her form, heavy on his clothes. Their bated breaths every moment they find themselves alone. And far too close for just an alliance.

 

 

Where she was always thinking about improvements and new structures to form their precious metal, he knows she’s lost her mind in everything else.

 

 

Soon after, she would let him know what she was wearing underneath her clothes. Lacy panties, matching bra, sometimes her bralettes would beacon under the revealing blouse she would wear, or that one time she wore a skirt so short he had half a mind to punish the living fuck out of her before her workers.

 

He faces the table before him and pretends he hasn’t seen what has his heart racing from the moment she walked in. She decides to taunt him further, coming up next to him and before he even turns back to greet her, a worker takes her attention, enquiring about some complexities of a design. But she swivels her hips just enough to rub against his hip.

 

A game. He decides to play. Snaking a hand around her waist down to the opening by her hips, past the way her body does a little jump but melting into his touch like it’s been calibrated to centre around him and the notion alone tugs at his core.

 

His sweet girl, so damn responsive.

 

He searches further to find her wet folds, and all with two fingers he throws all his cares into a waste dump right next to where his resolve laid dying. Because it’s a delicious moment encounter and though the consequences may follow, he fixes his gaze on a camera just above him as he’s fingering her clit.

 

Her folds are hotter than any sun that’s touched his skin, her wetness, slick and gives his fingers purpose to bring her closer against his body as she grinds against them. She stifles a moan when he finally sinks two fingers in her heat. His strokes, deep and sure against her walls, languid and ever-enticing to see her double over, her wetness slowly pooling at his knuckles and he would soon have her in a quivering mess, amidst and unbeknownst to others. His eyes peer down towards the royal heir, and he wonders just how many lucky stars he still has if he wants to suddenly bend her over the desk and fuck her, sore for the stunt she pulls every day.

 

Cameras and all be damned, even if he’s banished from Wakanda, hindered from entering again for despoiling the Princess in vile, vile ways, at least he’s subdued the royal far beyond and beneath her status to care.

 

He knows the way to make his little princess cry and he can almost taste her musky scent as her walls squeeze tighter around him and again without fail he imagines her tightness around his cock and that alone is enough for him to fuck her faster.

 

 

So when she lurches forward and he knows that in one deep flick from his fingers he’s found her little spot, a few of her workers turn to see what had their princess in such a way. He wants them to see his glistening fingers slither away from the muddle between her thighs, all from his own doing.

 

 

And he’s even more wicked for wanting their attention when he sucks her juices on his tongue, making sure his slurp caught their ears. She turns her head to him and by the looks of her astonishment, her mouth slightly open, her eyes are lidded and fixed on his mouth. He dares to assume that she would run away with him.

 

 

Him and their little thing.

 

 

Then he grabs her by the elbow and harshly pulls her behind him not caring for the small squeal she releases nor does he care for the workers’ looks.

 

 

Lust does many things, and his observant, cunning mind knows he’s started a war.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	2. Conclusion

_But you throw me into the deep end_

  
_Expect me to know how to swim_

  
_And I put my faith in someone else_

  
_'Cause I will be just fine_

 

_*Jungle by Tash Sultana*_

 

 

* * *

 

Part 2.

 

 

He’s reckless.

 

And that’s toxic.

 

It drives her insane. She wants it almost all the time and every day. Where her body will never become immune to the effect he has on her.

 

 

She especially loves when he moans into her mouth, from when he’s dicking her down or fingering her ass or slapping her cunt. She loves it most when he tells her how good she’s been, but Bast does she fall even more when he uses her when she’s been a brat. When he squeezes around her throat as he pulls her hips down, plummeting his cock deep into her pussy she swears she feels it in her throat. Or when she’s lying across his lap in nothing but a belt strapped tight around her wrists as he spanks the ever loving redness into her ass, the back of her thighs, and if she was naughty enough a stinging smack to her sloppy cunt.

 

But its here, in these rendezvous that she loves the most. The possibility of getting caught catches her fuse on fire and she knows he likes that too. To have a passer-by hear her loud moans as she comes around his cock, or their confused faces when she calls everybody out of the lab just so he could have his way with her, eyes locked on the elevator doors in case somebody dares to walk in.

 

That’s where she comes back.

 

He pulls her arms behind her and slows his rough stroke inside her, his breath impossibly hot against her neck as he grabs at her chest.

 

“Keep those eyes open kitten, wouldn’t want your mother to catch us like this,” he huffs, the image causing her walls to squeeze tighter around him and she moans sluggishly, awfully drunk on his words.

 

“Oh the little princess would love that wouldn’t she?” he grunts, no doubt affected by her tightness.

 

And she doesn’t even understand how he can withstand fucking her into oblivion but still have the breath to mouth off against her ears. But she loves it. Bast does she fucking love it, getting off on this kind of madness he always puts her under.

 

Her head rolls back to rest on his shoulder, her braids are coming undone, her cunt is hot and squelching, her nipples have been hard since he slapped them from when she was on her knees just moments before. Begging for release, her arms aching from having to brace on the tables before he locked them behind her, and yet her dress still manages to stay put while her small little panties are soaked with saliva in her mouth.

 

“Please Ev, please,” she cries out, but the lacy garment reduces her pleas and all she gets for a reply is a menacing chuckle. Just her luck, maybe she shouldn’t have tested him so far.

 

“C’mon tell me sweetness, tell me how much you’d love to have your mother, or your brother walk in on us like this,” he groans, squeezing her tighter in his arms as he roughly ploughs into her till he’s balls deep.

 

“Evie please-“

 

“You parade yourself all dolled up in royalty and yet here you are putty and dripping and begging.”

 

_Fuck._ It hits the right spots, an old saying ringing true - such  filthy words that undoes her. 

 

“If only they knew what a true slut you are for me? A little cum slut for daddy’s cream aren’t you?”

 

“I know exactly what you desire. You want to be owned, you want to be put in your place, you want to be reduced to this dirty little whore your subjects have not a clue about behind closed doors. Tell me that’s who you really are.”

 

She mewls, insanely high on him, his smell, how heavy his hand feels at her hips now creeping closer to her throat, the other still grasped so tight wrapped across her waist. Her chest tightens, her cunt impossibly getting wetter and tighter around his cock when he finally starts a slow bruising pace. Stroking and pulling at every drag of his length against her walls.

 

Because he’s right. That’s exactly how he makes her feel, and she fucking loves it.

 

He thrusts deeper, the motion enough to jerk against the table and she rolls her eyes, the pain too good. That’s going to bruise tomorrow.

 

“Tell me Shuri!” he growls, reaching up to pull the sorry lacy garment from her mouth, tossing it far off in a corner.

 

“That’s-“ she stammers, choking as she leans forward to drop her head on the table, the coolness a stark contrast to the warmth all around her when she finally whines.

 

“That’s who I am-“

 

“Who are you?” he moans against her ear, her back greased with sweat, her middle slowly spasming against his form.

 

“A dirty little whore,” she whimpers and soon she gasps when he pulls fistfuls of her braids.

 

“Louder,” he demands, and she can feel her walls tightening closer to her orgasm.

 

“A dirty little whore,” she groans as he starts to fuck her. Earnestly. Deservingly. Because all she feels is being reduced to this filthy little thing of lust.

 

“Say it, feel it, believe it baby. That’s who you are. Just a begging, tight, perfect, little whore for me to use, aren’t you?”

 

 

Yes, and she loves it.

 

She keens, and mewls from her high while she releases around him, her body twitching, the air seemingly getting tighter at her throat, the squelch of her wetness lewd and ever so filthy in her ears as he pulls out of her, twisting her around and guiding her to the ground, her knees knowing the abuse it received moments before he fucked her against her lab table.

 

“Open your slutty mouth.”

 

And she does, oh so faithfully, as she rests her palms on his upper thighs when he strokes at his length. She leans forward to suck at his balls and she can feel him twitch on her tongue, the feeling so irrevocably enticing. When she peers up and sees his silver hair beginning to loosen from its initial brushed state, his head bent back, his chest reddened and sheen with sweat, his hands masterfully wrapped around his cock, where she can see a small ring of her cream just at the hilt of his length and she runs her tongue there. Sucking and slurping her own taste and she moans from the musky tint of both their traces. She reaches down to her cunt and slips two fingers between her walls, almost mewling at how used her pussy feels, and it’s just the way she craves it.

 

Pulling. Stroking. Coaxing. Tempting his spunk to splatter across her face. Letting it taint her in ways nothing and no one else ever will. Because she just loves drowning in it. Covered with it. Soaked in it. Soiled. Marked.

 

 

He’s toxic and untouchable.

 

Because the sooner he finishes on or inside her the sooner she finds that she yearns for more. Most of all, Shuri begs to be broken in. Like a new mattress before it gets used to a body. But this time, she would never tire nor would she get used to the feel of his cock, fingers, tongue whatever toy he can find to ease inside her.

 

 

She wants to walk out of the room smelling like him. And that maybe taking it a bit too far, but she loves it.

 

As he groans, moaning at the way his balls tighten on her tongue and his spunk oozes out of the slit, she covers the head with her mouth and sinks his cock so far down her throat her pussy clenches from around her fingers. She gathers all his come in her mouth and he grabs her by her braids and pulls her up against him.

 

“Good girl. Such a good girl, show me,” he coos, caressing her supple ass.

 

She opens her mouth to show him. He turns her back around and bends her over once more, he reaches around towards her mouth and says, “Gimme.”

 

She lets his spunk drool from her lips, making sure to keep a small amount to swallow down her throat and she can slightly make out what he’s mumbling under his breath.

 

“Sloppy little slut, love how filthy you get for me baby.”

 

“Such a fucking perfect cunt baby. There’s nothing like it sweetheart. Nothing like your pussy wrapped around my cock, nothing else compares my baby.”

 

He reaches behind her and lathers her pussy lips in his come, rubbing her sensitive clit as her body trembles, rubbing the rest onto her ass.

 

“I want you covered in my spunk just like this, to remind yourself who owns your needy little cunt until I use you again tonight you understand me?”

 

“Yes daddy.”

 

 

This is nasty. Utterly filthy when she thinks about it.

 

 

 

And she almost wishes someone would catch them as she eyes the elevator doors, moaning loudly.

 

With one last slap to her clit and a beckoning jolt of her hips, all the while smirking as he bends to pick up his pants, he sighs deeply and runs the other hand through his hair, all the more handsome for such a simple gesture.

 

“Now go find your panties and put them on. Don’t need the cleaners making assumptions,” he says, smoothing his white shirt as he makes his way to his coat by the elevator.

 

“They wouldn’t be wrong though,” she calls out, finding the poor garment just inches away from where they defiled her lab table.

 

“You would like that wouldn’t you sweetheart.”

 

She catches a glimpse of him fixing his hair, Rolex beaming a little light in her eyes as the elevator doors hiss close.

 

Finding the panties too soiled to adorn, she carefully places them in her small clutch knowing he would be livid with her disobedience, and a small twitch from her cunt has her releasing a small gasp.

 

 

Just what the fuck has Everett Ross done to poor little Shuri.

 

But if that doesn’t make her want to defy the odds and almost everyone around her for wanting him, then she doesn’t know what else she could do to be rid of him… and she’s not doing that anytime soon. Not when she loves it like this.


End file.
